


An Attempted Haunting at 221B

by DaisyFairy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blood, Fire, Gen, Halloween, Magic, Supernatural Elements, body parts, imp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 21:54:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12591340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaisyFairy/pseuds/DaisyFairy
Summary: Svey is an imp who needs to scare someone in order to stay in the world of mortals, how will he fare if the people he has to scare are the inhabitants of 221B Baker Street.





	An Attempted Haunting at 221B

**Author's Note:**

  * For [May_Shepard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/May_Shepard/gifts).



> I may have missed publishing this on Halloween in the UK, but it is still Halloween on Baker Island in the Pacific Ocean, so I'm going to count that as a success.

Svey is an imp who has been waiting in the netherworld for far too long to be summoned. He wants to cause mischief, play some tricks and generally frighten the pants off of someone. Years trapped in limbo with all of the other imps, demons, and various supernatural entities has been so boring. In the end, it is Halloween and he has had ENOUGH. A scribbled diagram in a notebook that if you squint _could_ be a pentagram, a spilt pinch of potassium carbonate, which is _a_ salt, even if technically it isn’t sodium chloride table salt; a single drop of blood, and a mumbled curse that if you were only half paying attention and listening with cotton wool in your ears you could believe was the appropriate summoning spell, and Svey took his chance. He materialised in the kitchen of 221b Baker Street with a small flash of lightning and tiny crash of thunder. The deal is that he has 24 hours to strike fear into the heart of the household he has been summoned to. If he can do that he will be granted free rein to stay in the mortal realm for a whole year, if he fails he will be banished back to the underworld until he is summoned again. Failure is not an option.

 

To be honest Svey had hoped his arrival would be enough to do it. The whole appearing out of thin air with pyrotechnics deal is fairly reliable as a scare tactic. Unfortunately whoever had been in the kitchen to summon him, they are no longer there. He has the power to become invisible again, but it is more of a slow fade, more the kind of thing to draw curiosity than shock, and his magic is limited, he doesn’t want to waste it on something unlikely to work.

 

The sound of footsteps approaches and Svey hurries to hide himself amongst the clutter, peering around a pile of papers on the floor he gets his first glimpse of the man who summoned him. Tall, dark hair, pale skin, and wearing some kind of blue robe the man sits on a chair by the table and fusses with a newly applied plaster on his finger. As Svey watches the man measures out some more of the potassium carbonate and starts fiddling with pipettes and beakers.

 

For many of his kind their very appearance can be enough to inspire terror. Even though small many of them are covered in scales, misshapen heads, large mouths full of wicked teeth and claws like needles. Svey however has been cursed with of all of things, _cuteness_. In appearance he could be mistaken for a small dog or cat, maybe some kind of hybrid of the two. Fluffy fur and floppy ears, his teeth are almost unnaturally even and despite his best efforts he has never been able to cultivate anything even approaching a snarl or growl. He cannot risk anyone seeing him, so now his only hope is to hide and use his magics to frighten the householders.

 

Svey’s eyes flash as he casts a spell to lift some of the beakers into the air, floating them several inches above the table top. He expects shock, fear, a scream would be good. What he didn’t expect was for the man to growl in annoyance, fling the window open and leave the room quickly yelling, “John, don’t go in the kitchen. I seem to have made an airborne hallucinogen.”

 

Returning the beakers to the table in defeat Svey realizes that this is going to be more difficult than he thought. He cautiously peers around the doorframe into what he assumes is some kind of living area, although given the amount of clutter it could also be a store room. He sees the tall man and a shorter man wearing a beige jumper having some kind of argument. He doesn’t listen, it seems completely unimportant, but instead uses the distraction to sneak out of the kitchen.

 

The fire crackling in the grate gives him an idea. Once again he summons his magic to make the fire spark, embers jump out and land on the rug and the taller man’s robe, and with a tiny bit of encouragement the sparks catch sending flames racing up the man’s clothing from the hem to the waist and blazing happily away on the rug heading steadily further out into the room. Svey is certain that this will do it, humans are always terrified of fire, but there is a surprising lack of panic. The taller man emits a small gasp of surprise, but Svey cannot sense any more than a tiny thread of fear, that will not be enough to convince those in charge that he has earned a years freedom. The shorter man rolls his eyes as he turns and picks up a red cylinder from behind a pile of paper work, then within only a few seconds of the fire starting the man sprays some kind of white powder over the taller man extinguishing the flames. For his part the tall man simply turns calmly so that the other man can reach the flames more easily. Once those are out the shorter man turns the cylinder on the rug. It is less than 20 seconds before all of the flames are out.

 

The shorter man puts the cylinder aside then turns back to the taller man with his eyes narrowed. As he does so Svey can sense a little thrill of fear emanating from the taller man, he wishes he could claim to have caused it, but this fear is aimed firmly at the shorter man so there is no hope that the other demons would allow this to count.

 

The shorter man doesn’t yell, but there is a firmness to his voice that suggests this is a situation that could easily change, “Sherlock! What is it with you today? First it is hallucinogens, now this.”

 

Tall man replies defensively, “You can’t blame me John. I may have caught fire but I didn’t cause the wood to spark.”

 

“No. But you used the fire guard for that experiment with the pigeon last week. If that was still there the sparks wouldn’t have hit you or the rug.”

 

The bickering continues for a few minutes, Svey tunes out the words and instead listens to the emotions that are emanating from ‘Sherlock’ and ‘John’. Sherlock seems to trust this ‘John’ completely, there is also a defensive feeling of righteousness, but still, as the argument continues that tiny thread of fear returns again and again, paying closer attention to the fear Svey sees it is linked to an anxiety, a loneliness, ah, fear that John will leave. Svey can immediately see that this fear is completely unfounded, the feelings of connection, loyalty, and companionship emanating from John are strong and unwavering. Svey sighs, all this is very interesting after years away from mortals, but it is not helping him to get nearer to his goal.

 

Svey can sense that Sherlock is gradually feeling pain, he doesn’t realize it immediately, he seems so focused on John, but it suddenly reaches his conscious mind and he gasps. Immediately John leaps to action, taking Sherlock’s arm and helping him out of the ruined robe and to the sofa. John is feeling concern, compassion, but no fear, and although still in pain Sherlock seems so trusting of John’s ability to care for him that he has not even one iota of fear for his health.

 

Svey leaves John to tend to Sherlock’s minor burns and retreats into the shadows. He needs to think about this to plan his next attack.

 

Leviatation seems not to work, John is turning the fire extinguisher on the fireplace muttering about getting a new fireguard, so fire is out, Svey can control an existing fire but not start one from scratch. Moving objects around so that they are in a different place can cause fear of someone being in the home, but that works best with single occupancy homes, and can take time that Svey doesn’t have. He spots a violin. Ah. Music in the middle of the night, that is one that can work.

 

Svey hides in the shadows for the next few hours while the two men eat and the shorter one, John, he remembers, bustles around Sherlock. As the night draws in John gives Sherlock some kind of medicine and the men vanish to their bedrooms, after half an hour the lights under their doors go out. Svey waits another hour, waking from a deep sleep will be more likely to cause shock. His eyes glow as he gathers his magic, the violin and bow float in the air and he scrapes across the string to make an awful screeching noise. It would be nice to sense a jolt of fear from one of the bedrooms, but from the downstairs bedroom just the tranquility of sleep is emanating, and from upstairs he can sense sleepy confusion and mounting annoyance. Maybe John will come to investigate and see the levitating instrument, he is much more likely to believe his eyes if accompanied by auditory evidence. Svey shivers in anticipation, this is it, a whole year away from the never-ending boredom of the Netherworld. His dream is shattered when John shouts down, “Sherlock, that sleeping tablet should have knocked you out for the night, go to bed! I swear if you wake Mrs. Hudson again I’m telling Molly not to let you in the morgue for a month.” and then… nothing. After several more minutes he gives up and sneaks upstairs, John is lying fast asleep with ear plugs in, an investigation of the downstairs bedroom finds ‘Sherlock’ passed out under the covers, even lifting the bed off the floor and shaking it doesn’t wake the man.

 

Svey could almost cry with frustration, he can feel the minutes ticking by until he will be dragged back out of this reality, but it seems there is nothing to do but wait until morning. He slinks back to the lounge, curls up under one of the armchairs and falls asleep.

 

\---

 

Svey jolts awake when the front door slams. Closing his eyes to sense the occupants of the flat he can immediately tell that Sherlock has left. Hmm, half the people to scare isn’t ideal, but then often one person is easier to unsettle without anyone around to make them feel safe. He stretches and yawns, then pads into the kitchen, time to redouble his efforts, time is running out. He levitates all of the mugs and lines them up on the table, then a deep breath to centre himself and he summons a spell to fill the mugs with maggots and worms. Such a big use of his magic is a risk, he feels drained and it will be some time before he has the strength to do anything substantial, but he looks at the wriggling creatures with satisfaction, this should be dramatic enough to earn his stay. Ha! Wait until John sees that.

 

Svey doesn’t have long to wait. John comes down the stairs from his room in a robe and rumpled pyjamas, with hair sticking up and a slight frown on his face. He switches the kettle on, then turns to fetch a mug from the cupboard. His frown deepens at finding it empty, and it is only then that he turns to the table. Svey could dance with glee, this will be it, he knows it, mugs mysteriously full of disgusting bugs must be enough to frighten him. But…no! What is he doing? John sighs, closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths. Then he mutters under his breath “I’m going to kill him, I really am.” and starts tipping the squirming insects into the kitchen bin and running a bowl of hot water. He’s not going to…surely, but he does, he washes the mugs and leaves them on the draining board to dry. Then dries a single mug with a tea towel and switches the kettle back on to make tea.

 

Svey slinks into the shadows in defeat. He only has a few hours left, he has used up almost all of his magic, and it seems that the occupants of this flat are completely immune to his tricks. He curls up and tries to come up with some kind of last ditch plan, possibly involving gnawing his own leg off to frighten them, which will be a complete bugger because it’ll take at least a month to regrow. Then the front door bursts open and Sherlock comes in laden down with packages.

 

“John! John!”

 

John comes into the room and is promptly handed the largest box that Sherlock was carrying, he stumbles slightly at the unexpected weight.

 

“There, a new fireguard, completely pigeon free. Now stop staring and help me with this, I have a brain, a heart, a dozen toes and two pints of blood, go and get your scalpels and I’ll fetch my apron.”

 

Svey gawks as John accepts this with only a little grumbling about inconsiderate bastards and Sherlock starts loading the kitchen table up with half the contents of a morgue. The front door has been left open and he slips out without them noticing. There is nothing he can do that can top human remains on the work surfaces and he only has a few hours left.

 

The door at the bottom of the stairs is also open so he steps out onto the pavement and heads into London to make the most of his last few hours. He only has a little magic left but maybe he can frighten some children in the park, or have some fun with commuters on the tube. His eyes glow and little magic sparks drift into the sky as he amuses himself by rearranging the letters on the specials board at Speedy’s and making the traffic lights stick on

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure about the title seeing as 'Haunting' is normally associated with ghosts not imps, so if you have a better idea please let me know.
> 
> This was a bit rushed, but I hope it's ok.


End file.
